Scars
by ScaryScarecrows
Summary: No one makes it out unscathed. Jonathan Crane is no exception.


Jonathan is lying on their bed, shirtless and soaked with sweat. The toxin wore off some time ago, but Kitty can't convince him to just sleep. He's close, desperately close, but every time he starts to nod off he jerks himself awake.

His eyes are closed but she knows that when he opens them they'll be a frightening shade of blue. It unnerves her, that colour. It's unexpected.

He sighs and shifts a tiny bit, his hair falling across his forehead. Why won't he sleep?

Perhaps the effects haven't completely worn off just yet. That would explain the restlessness.

It's rare, even when he _is_ asleep, to see him this still. As of late, the nightmares have been getting the better of him. She can see that he's tired, why won't he sleep?

She can see the scars from the birds and his grandmother. They run from his neck downwards, scattered haphazardly across his skin. Some of them have faded over the years, but there's a decent amount that are still very visible. She doesn't have a clue where most of them came from, but there's a few that she knows. The long, jagged scar across his chest comes from one of the idiots they went to school with. He thought he was being clever when he jumped them on the way home from school. The neighbor's dog thought _he _was being clever when he jumped the fence and ripped his pants off.

"Kitty?"

"Hm?"

He's shaking again, this time from fever-like chills. A side effect, she guesses. She jots it down before standing up and approaching him. He's no longer violent, thankfully, but she's hesitant to get too close. At least he knows her now.

"Cold."

"I'm going to help you get under the covers now, yeah?" He nods. "Okay."

He's limp and unhelpful and it takes a few minutes to get him covered up. She wonders if he's temporarily paralyzed or simply exhausted. That may require more research.

"How's that?"

His eyes are closed again, but he's not asleep.

"S'okay."

"D'you need another blanket?"

"No."

"D'you want me to stay here?"

He nods. Good. Before, he was convinced she was his grandmother and things had gotten…scary.

She sits down beside him. He sighs and his head falls back. Why won't he sleep?

After a few minutes of silence, she risks putting her hand on his head. The world does not explode, the bed does not catch on fire, and he does not react. That's good.

After a few more minutes, she deems it safe to play with his hair. Really, the man has been _blessed _with soft hair, and it would be a sin to leave it alone. Besides, when he's in his right mind he enjoys it.

She leaves to get a cup of tea half an hour later. When she comes back, he's asleep. She freezes in the doorway as if the slightest breath will wake him, but he doesn't stir.

It takes her a minute to settle down beside him, but she manages to do it without waking him up. His breathing is easy now and he looks relaxed. No nightmares. She checks the time: eight thirty-six.

He looks so helpless lying here, but she knows better. He's stronger than he looks.

She picks up a book and leans against the headboard. Jonathan sighs and rolls over, the blankets sliding halfway down his back.

There's more scars there, too, these ones much more visible. Most of these come from birds, but the one that runs along his spine does not. That one comes from an…accident, Jonathan said. Something involving the devil. He didn't go into details and she didn't want to know. Not really.

He moves his hand so it's on the pillow by his head and she spots something on his wrist. Another scar, like so many others, but this does not come from a bird. It runs along his vein for a brief distance before veering off. Suicide attempt?

"Dear Jesus, Jonathan." she whispers. "Jesus Christ, what did you do?"

He doesn't stir. She's half-expecting him to answer, but he doesn't. That's almost relieving. He needs the sleep.

There's bruises along his wrists from where he was fighting the restraints and she grimaces. He'll notice those eventually and then they'll talk about a new strategy.

Jonathan coughs and mumbles something incoherent. Kitty puts her hand on his head again and he nudges against her fingers like a cat.

"Kitty?"

When did he wake up? Was he even asleep?

"Go to sleep, Jonathan." she begs. "You're exhausted."

"Scarecrow said that." His voice slurs. "I don't feel tired."

Overtired, then. She knows that feeling. He turns again, his eyes still closed.

"Go to sleep."

"Can't." he says. "Can't sleep, Granny s-said not to."

Ah. So the toxin has residual effects, then.

"She's dead." she reminds him. "You can sleep."

"She said…"

"If she comes back, I'll deal with her. You're exhausted, Jonathan, get some rest."

He rolls back over and goes very still. When she looks at him again, he's out.

Theoretically, he'll stay out for several hours. She hopes he does. They can talk later.

"Good night, Jonathan."

He does not respond. She tucks the blankets around his shoulders, confident that nothing will wake him now. They can talk later, once he's got something in his stomach and she is absolutely positive that the toxin is out of his system.

She's asleep ten minutes later.

AN: This is a companion piece to 'Test'.


End file.
